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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24272206">Insomnia’s Little Game</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/6121AU/pseuds/6121AU'>6121AU</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>EXO (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Awkward Flirting, Crush at First Sight, Cutesy, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, Insecurity, Insomnia, M/M, No Angst, Opposites Attract, Secret Crush, Tags Are Hard, Waiters &amp; Waitresses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:08:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24272206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/6121AU/pseuds/6121AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Insomnia is an enemy that Park Chanyeol grows weary of battling. Surrendering to sleeplessness one night, he visits a twenty-four hour small restaurant, where he meets Kim Jongdae. There's something about the waiter's warmth and bittersweet smiles that speak to Chanyeol. Whenever sleep evades him, Chanyeol returns to the restaurant in the hopes of seeing Jongdae again, and while laughing about seasonal specials and sharing pieces of their lives, good and bad, they fall in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Jongdae | Chen/Park Chanyeol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Insomnia’s Little Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Comical how time moves</em>. Park Chanyeol remembered from his childhood the night passing in a flash. <em>You close your eyes. Surprise, it’s morning!<br/>
<br/>
</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But when you can’t fall asleep, the night is abundant. You close your eyes, and your brain whirs uselessly through the mundane details of your day. It percolates and organises, like a librarian who has just clocked in and unambiguously needs to place all the books in order.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You turn on one side; then you flop onto your abdomen; then you flip to your back. You get a glass of water. You walk back and forth in your small flat and contemplate your life choices. Your sorriness. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">When all is said and done, you switch on the television or open a book on your e-reader, but you can’t centralise. Because you </span> <em> <span class="s2">are</span> </em> <span class="s1"> fatigued. Debilitated, in fact. Because insomnia isn’t one night, but many nights strung together until you’re not certain when you </span> <em> <span class="s2">have</span> </em> <span class="s1"> last slept, though you’re relatively convinced you must have.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You give thought to take a sleeping pill, but they don’t always go as planned, and when they do, you feel muddled and lethargic the next day. So, you continue through this routine, wakefulness and languor your only companions, until one night you stop trying to sleep at all. The nights pass more quickly when you do not fight them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You get dressed, you grab your keys and wallet, and you leave that flat in a hurry, as if it’s a jail cell instead of a home.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s the night that Park Chanyeol met Kim Jongdae.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong><span class="s3">SPECIALS: Veggie omelet, fruit salad, free refills of orange juice to celebrate all that sunshine!</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Jongdae poured a refill of bitter black brew into his customer’s mug. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Hope it doesn’t give him an ulcer</em>,</span> <span class="s1"> he thought, knowing how potent the coffee was at the restaurant. The customer was a regular, arriving at the exact moment Jongdae started his shift; an elderly man who had dinner and four cups of coffee like clockwork.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sunny-Side Up, bacon, hash browns!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae turned away to grab the order from the window. It was still early, and they were not packed yet, but Jongdae and Kyungsoo had perfected this dance. Busy or slow, it didn’t matter. Jongdae pivoted on his heel, set the coffee pot on its warming plate, and picked up old Mr. Kwon’s heart attack on a plate. He then snagged a bottle of ketchup and tobacco sauce on his way to the end of the bar, where Mr. Kwon preferred to sit.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here you go,” he said with a bright smile.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mr. Kwon surveyed his breakfast, his condiments, and the tower of jelly capsules. “Looks good,” he said roughly, his voice worn and torn from years of use. “I could use more coffee in a minute.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The old man had already drank half the cup in the few seconds it took Jongdae to grab his meal.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Coming up,” Jongdae said, spinning to get the coffee pot. “Do you have any big plans for the summer?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was the first week of June, and the weather was in that perfect phase where the days were warm but not blistering hot, and the nights were cool but not cold.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mr. Kwon blinked. “I’ll be playing cards, then write some letters to my son who is serving in the army…”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Mr. Kwon ran through his plans, Jongdae almost regretted asking. But he knew the old man was lonely, so he smiled and nodded until Mr. Kwon paid his check and ambled out.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Progressively, as the night moved forward, seats filled up. As the only restaurant open twenty-four hours in a small town, the pre-dawn hours were the busiest time, though the real rush came after the bars closed at two in the morning.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clipped another order over the window. “It’s the last one for a while, Kyungsoo,” he called, knowing his colleague had to be drained after the nearly two hour rush of customers, some of whom were drunk and disorderly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae had been flirted with, insulted, and ignored while taking orders from the raucous crowd. He was so used to it and didn’t get aggrieved anymore. He wondered if that should worry him. Some part of him recognised that he was angry to be called derogatory names, but he was too drained to muster up the buoyancy for any real ire.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The door jingled, gesticulating another customer and Jongdae cursed under his breath. No rest for the wicked or the minimally employed. Jongdae would love a better job, a </span> <em> <span class="s2">day</span> </em> <span class="s1"> job, but the daytime hours were reserved for caring for his mother. She was in her fifth year of living with Alzheimer’s, and her physical health continued to decline right alongside her mind.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae pushed away the thoughts threatening to draw him into a spiral of depression and called up a smile for the new customer. It was a shadow of what it’d been when he’d started his shift.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sit anywhere you like,” he called.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The man, who would be handsome if he weren’t so careworn, nodded and chose a booth in the back corner. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Not the social type.</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae grabbed the coffee pot and approached. The order pad was tucked in his pinafore, but with just one customer, he could memorise the order until he returned to Kyungsoo.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Coffee?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man looked up, and his eyes were stunning. The chocolate brown of his iris was deep-coloured in contrast to his dark eyelashes. His hair was disheveled, his face well past five-o-clock shadow and somewhere around three-day shade, but under the scruff and exhaustion, he had potential.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That would be like pouring fuel onto a fire,” the man said before clearing his throat. “I’ll have a glass of orange juice.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Long night?” Jongdae asked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His customer looked up, locking gazes with Jongdae. “You have no idea.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I might.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">A moment of understanding passed between them. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Two tired souls in the night</span></em><span class="s1">, Jongdae thought whimsically.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae nodded to the plastic menu in a metal stand on the far side of the table. “Have a look at the menu. I’ll be back soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he returned with the glass of orange juice, the customer’s eyes deteriorated to his nametag. “Thanks, Jongdae.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re welcome...” Jongdae lifted his eyebrows, anticipating, until the man smiled at him. It transformed his face from haggard to handsome, and Jongdae felt a flutter in his belly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Park Chanyeol. Nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You too,” Jongdae said on autopilot, but on his way to the kitchen to put in the order for Chanyeol’s sandwich, he realised it was true. There was something about Chanyeol, with his pretty eyes and tired face, that intrigued Jongdae.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It would most likely be a one time visit. If he ever came back, Jongdae might try to learn more about what put those bags under his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">SPECIALS: Summer salad, chilled cucumber soup, no air conditioning for the wicked!</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol narrowed his eyes to read the specials board at the restaurant a few weeks later. He inclined his head, skeptical that a greasy restaurant could pull off chilled cucumber soup of all things. Even if they could, give in the morning might not be the finest hour to test the theory.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here’s your orange juice.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was his fifth or sixth visit to the restaurant. He’d had an especially insomniac summer. As repercussion, Jongdae began to feel more like a friend than a waiter. And Chanyeol felt more like a stalker with how frequently he showed up.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae placed a glass of orange juice on the table. He held a second glass of ice water in his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol confusingly glanced around the desolate restaurant. “Who’s it for?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me,” Jongdae said, and slid into the booth across Chanyeol. “The air conditioning broke, and while it’s freezing out here, it’s torturous in the kitchen.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol grimaced. “I can imagine.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae’s hair darkened with sweat at his hairline. He ran his hands through it, pushing it off his forehead, then waved a hand in front of his face.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Chilled cucumber?” Chanyeol asked dubiously.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae laughed, it sounded like music. He had a lovely tenor tone that Chanyeol was almost optimistic it would translate into a pleasant singing voice. Unlike him. He made dogs howl when he tried.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We needed to have something not fried during this heat wave. Don’t knock it until you try it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol wrinkled his nose. “I’ll take the sandwich,” he said. “With fries.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sadist.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae began sliding from the booth but Chanyeol placed a hand over his arm. “You can wait a few more minutes. I’m in no hurry. Drink some of your water.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol could see that Jongdae was nearly as jaded as he was, but for a different reason. He’d probably been run off his feet during his shift.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae slumped back in the seat and took a long drink. Chanyeol averted his eyes, certain he wouldn’t be able to watch Jongdae’s lips wrapped around the straw without giving off his interest. At first glance, Jongdae’s black hair and brown eyes didn’t seem that striking. But add in his smiles, easy laughter, graceful movements, and he was all too enchanting.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t have to order something fried,” Chanyeol tentatively offered.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae waved off his concerns. “I’m only teasing you. I wouldn’t work in a restaurant if I couldn’t handle the heat.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why do you work here?” Chanyeol asked bluntly. His fatigue didn’t permit his brain to work at its optimum. He winced at his absence of subtlety, but Jongdae didn’t seem to mind.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To pay the bills, why else?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But…”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae smiled. “It’s a long story, and I’ve got work to do.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m being inquisitive. My apologies.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“What’s </span> <em> <span class="s2">your</span> </em> <span class="s1"> story?” Jongdae asked. “Why do you gallivant here at these crazy hours? You must work a crappy night shift too.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol chuckled ruefully at Jongdae’s surprise. “I work nine-to-five. Just… restive, I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae looked at him with something akin to intrigue. “Is there a Mrs. Park or a Chanyeol Jr. at home snug in their beds?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae’s probing into his relationship status pleased Chanyeol. “No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A Mr. Park?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Chanyeol said with a laugh. “You?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not at home in your bed,” Jongdae said with a mischievous grin. “That would violate the waiter/customer privilege.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course. The ethical boundaries.” Chanyeol nodded seriously.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have no idea how much authority holding the coffee pot gives me. Except with you, that is,” Jongdae said. “You confound me with your precedence for orange things.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe I just like sugary things.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then you’re in luck,” Jongdae said as he slid out of the booth. “I’m the sweetest waiter in town.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Jongdae walked away, and if Chanyeol wasn’t conceptualising it, there was a little more sway in his hips. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Sweet</span> </em> <span class="s1">, yes. Jongdae did have a sweetness to him, but also an aura of despondency. Maybe that’s why Chanyeol was drawn to him. Like calling out to like.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watched Jongdae glide up to the order window and pin up a ticket. Then watched as he moved from one table to the next, refilling bowls of condiments and wiping up left-over crumbs.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol was still watching Jongdae when his order came up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crispy bacon piled high with lettuce and tomato and French fries with just the right amount of crunch were delivered promptly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here is your very hot meal,” Jongdae teased. “If Kyungsoo dies of heat stroke, I’m blaming you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pointed a playful finger at Chanyeol and drifted away to continue cleaning. Chanyeol ate alone, all the while wishing he could invite Jongdae to sit down again. Even with the hint of sadness hanging around Jongdae, he was a comforting presence. Warmth emanated from him, and Chanyeol wanted to wrap himself in it and sleep the kind of deep sleep that so often eluded him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <b>SPECIALS: Pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin pies, pumpkin fever!</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Jongdae had just refilled Mr. Kwon’s coffee when the door jingled, granting entrance to a boisterous group and followed by a single man. His heart fluttered. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Chanyeol’s back</em>.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hadn’t seen Chanyeol in two months. It was well into autumn, with pumpkin-spiced everything: pancakes, coffees, pies and cakes. Jongdae was prepared to progress into peppermint territory; it seemed he marked seasons by flavours lately. Better than marking time by the number of days his mother forgot his name.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Sit wherever you’d like, Chanyeol,” he called as he led the other group of three men and two women who’d evidently come straight from the bar to a large booth in the back of the restaurant. It took a few minutes for them to focus enough to order drinks, and Jongdae had to laugh as one of the women flirted artlessly with him. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Wasting your time</em>,</span> <span class="s1"> he thought, but it was pleasant to be noticed.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glanced over his shoulder, catching Chanyeol’s gaze on him and smiled. That was attention he’d like recurrently. Chanyeol was a handsome man, tall and slim but athletic. He had intelligent eyes, if overtired. But who wasn’t exhausted this time of night?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He delivered drinks and put in the drunk customer’s orders, eager to be done with them so he could sneak in a few words with Chanyeol. Finally, he had ten minutes to spare before Kyungsoo would have their orders up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He poured orange juice into a glass and carried it to Chanyeol’s table, sliding it across from him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol’s eyebrows lifted. “Are we going steady?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Without a doubt, no. I haven’t seen you in months,” Jongdae hoped he didn’t sound like a shrewish boyfriend. He had no claim on Chanyeol, not even friendship. He could scarcely demand Chanyeol to come by the restaurant while Jongdae worked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I came in once, but you weren’t here,” Chanyeol said. “I was sleeping better for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that why you come here?” Jongdae asked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol took a sip of his orange juice and sighed. “I have insomnia. I got on a new medication, but now my forbearance has kicked in… and you don’t need to know all this. Too much information, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae shrugged. “I don’t mind getting to know you better, Chanyeol. There’s more to a man than a sandwich and orange juice.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right. Maybe I’ll order—” Chanyeol squinted at the specials board “—the pumpkin pancakes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, you won’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t know that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Actually, I do. I already ordered your sandwich, there’s no going back now.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol laughed. “That’s what I want anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae smirked. “I figured.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A silence fell between them, not vexatious, but not conducive to staying when Jongdae had work to do. Jongdae slid out of the booth, prepared to move on, when Chanyeol brushed fingertips over his arm. A small shiver worked its way through Jongdae as he glanced down.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You haven’t always been a waiter, have you?” Chanyeol asked, seemingly out of the blue.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a stupid question,” Chanyeol said. “It’s just… you seem so graceful.” Chanyeol rolled his eyes. “That sounds lame, like a pick-up line or something.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was a dancer,” Jongdae glanced toward the kitchen before sitting down again. He had two more minutes, then he had to get back to work.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ballet?” Chanyeol asked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I went through a program where I did a lot of contemporary, jazz, and some ballet. I was with a dance company for a short time, but life happened. So, here I am.” Jongdae smiled. “Now, I choreograph the dance of coffee refills and sandwich deliveries.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened?” Chanyeol asked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My mother isn’t well. My sister and I work together to take care of her because we can’t afford a nurse, and we don’t want her in an old people’s home. She covers nights with her and I cover days. That’s why I work the graveyard shift at the restaurant instead of dancing my best years away with a dance company.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae stood again, ready to be done with his pity party. He felt foolish, dumping his life story on Chanyeol, a man who looked like he could throw his own pity party or two.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s unfortunate,” Chanyeol looked up at him. “How are you not raging at the world?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae gave his waiter smile. “What good would it do?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not much, Chanyeol.” Jongdae shrugged. “I had an opportunity. I followed my dreams and lived them for a minute or two, but nothing lasts forever.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t cause sorrow,” Chanyeol said.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae nodded, unable to speak around the sudden lump in his throat. It did hurt, yes, but watching his mother fade before his eyes hurt more. He’d have given up all his dreams to make her live again. But nothing lasts forever, especially not his mother’s health.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One day, she’d be gone and he’d return to his life as best as he could. Until then, he’d hold on to the pieces of the mother he remembered for as long as he could. He’d treasure each memory as if it were the last.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because it might be.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">SPECIALS: Meatloaf, peppermint mocha, and chilli… because it’s chilly!</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol’s eyes were gritty and his body sagged, but when he thought about lying down in bed, it only made his exhaustion feel heavier. His mind was twirling, and as expected when he couldn’t sleep, his brain replayed a list of his failures.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His breakup with his girlfriend, his father’s discontent, the average management position he couldn’t escape.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d met her in university, both of them advertising majors, but her career had taken off while his stagnated. By the time she got a big promotion that would send her overseas, they’d drifted apart, frustrated and resentful toward one another. She’d asked to go alone and Chanyeol had agreed to end their relationship when the breakup text message arrived a few weeks later.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol’s father, who’d never come to terms with his bisexuality, had seen her as a saving grace. When they parted ways, he told Chanyeol he was done watching him throw his life away.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That was that. She went overseas and Chanyeol was shuffled into a market analysis position that didn’t suit him. He’d once been full of zeal, thrumming with ideas. Now, he wrestled with spreadsheets and regrets, too worn out to alter his circumstances.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol could have tried one of the herbal remedies that sporadically helped him sleep, but he didn’t want another night wrestling with his insomnia. He wasn’t in any mood to fight it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulled on his boots and heavy winter coat and braved the snowy night.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luckily his car was in the underground parking, free of ice. He started it up and began driving with no real destination in mind.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was no surprise when Chanyeol found himself pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Maybe Jongdae will be working.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Despite his weariness, Chanyeol’s heart sped up at the thought. He’d come to the restaurant for six months, and more often than not, Jongdae was working. Chanyeol learned not to arrive too early, or Jongdae would be far too busy dashing from table to table with his coffee pot and smiles to grace Chanyeol with a bit of conversation. He timed his arrivals between four and six in the morning, not that he </span> <span class="s2"> <em>planned</em> </span> <span class="s1"> his schedule around Jongdae. That would be strange.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pushed open the door, the chimes announcing his arrival. His heart lifted when Jongdae’s bright smile greeted him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s snowing!” Jongdae exclaimed, walking right up to Chanyeol and brushing a few stray flakes from his shoulder. Jongdae leaned past him to peek out the door, bringing their bodies into contact. It sent a thrill through Chanyeol.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>You are one forlorn puppy to be this stimulated by a man’s impromptu touch.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At times like these, when Chanyeol was so affected by a man or a woman, he wondered how anyone could be locked into a heterosexual mind frame. He wasn’t exactly enticed to men or women. More like a set of characteristics and personality that all worked together like a carefully choreographed dance.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” Jongdae cursed. “That’s not going to be a leisurely walk home. Maybe I should call my sister…”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll take you home,” Chanyeol blurted. Jongdae drew back, forehead creased in concern as Chanyeol babbled an explanation. “I mean to your home. Just a ride because of the weather. I’m not a serial killer or rapist.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae’s smile returned. “I’m assured you’re not, Chanyeol. That’s awfully sweet, but—”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol grasped Jongdae’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Please. I’ll worry otherwise. You don’t have to call your sister, and you shouldn’t be walking in these conditions. I can’t believe you walk at all, considering you work the overnight shift.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae’s eyes searched his, looking for something in their depths, but whether he sought signs of Chanyeol’s honesty or sanity, he couldn’t say. Jongdae gave a small nod. “Well, like I said, it’s not far, and I get off shift at six o’clock, so it’s morning when I leave.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But not when Jongdae arrived. It would most likely be nine or ten in the afternoon, depending on how breaks were built into Jongdae’s shift. Chanyeol frowned, prepared to ask more questions, when Jongdae shifted uncomfortably. “A car is an expense I don’t need, Chanyeol.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol winced, abruptly realising that Jongdae had more important uses for his money, like his mother’s care. He’d explained before that he and his sister took care of his mother because they couldn’t afford a nurse. Jongdae covered days, and his sister covered nights while her husband was home with her three children.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No problem,” Chanyeol said. “I can wait until the end of your shift to drive you home.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Jongdae’s smile was hesitant, but it </span> <span class="s2"> <em>was</em> </span> <span class="s1"> a smile. “All right. Thank you, Chanyeol.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol sat in his regular booth and ordered his usual glass of orange juice and sandwich. He loafed around for the rest of Jongdae’s shift, accepting the slice of warm apple pie that Jongdae pressed on him and visiting him in-between customers.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He learned that Jongdae loved winter because he could dress in layers, which was an </span> <span class="s2"> <em>offence</em> </span> <span class="s1"> in Chanyeol’s opinion, given how fine Jongdae looked in the uniform he wore at the restaurant. His favourite pastime was dancing, as Chanyeol would have calculated, but he was astonished to hear Jongdae spent any free time he wasn’t needed at home volunteering at a dance school for children downtown. When Chanyeol asked his age, Jongdae laughed and said he’d be twenty-one for life: old enough drink, young enough to excessively drink. But when pressed Jongdae admitted he was twenty-five.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A very young twenty-five, though,” Chanyeol teased.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae had smiled sadly. “It feels like an old twenty-five to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For his part, Chanyeol told Jongdae more about his job, which had been unsatisfactory from the beginning but more fraught since an administration change the year before. He was content to report, though, that he’d been sleeping much better the past couple of months after trying a herbal remedy Jongdae had suggested.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol had tried it mostly to humour Jongdae, but there must be something to the tea infused with melatonin. Chanyeol would build tolerance to it too, so he used it sparingly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I knew it,” Jongdae said with a grin. “But really, if your job is so demanding, maybe that’s playing a part in your insomnia?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol nodded. He’d heard it from his doctor already. There were other factors at work, but stress worsened the condition. “It doesn’t help, but it’s a good job.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae hadn’t pushed too hard. “But is it the only job? Is it really worth all the sleepless hours? That’s what you have to decide.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On that note, Jongdae had gone back to serving his customers. Chanyeol didn’t tell him that tonight he hadn’t even tried to fight the insomnia or take the herbal remedy. He’d wanted to see Jongdae more than he’d wanted to sleep.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally, six-o-clock arrived, and Jongdae followed him to his car.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you so much, Chanyeol.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol smiled but found himself speechless.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae filled the silence. “Oh, you need my address. I live on the tenth block. It’s not far. I probably could have walked.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t need to walk in this weather,” Chanyeol said, his protective trait giving him voice. He pulled out of the parking lot and turned down the street. It was early, but the snow plows had begun work, creating large snow piles on each side of the road. Salt covered the street, keeping it from being dangerously slick. Driving conditions weren’t too precarious, but it was still cold and miserable.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, thank you,” Jongdae said again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They drove in silence. Chanyeol racked his brain for conversation, but he couldn’t manage. His heart beat fast in his chest, and though he’d always found Jongdae easy to talk to in the restaurant, in this new environment, he floundered. Jongdae, too, seemed uncharacteristically quiet.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The drive ended soon. Too soon. Chanyeol felt a sense of panic as he pulled to the curb and Jongdae reached for the door.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Would you maybe want to eat with me? Not as a waiter, but as a… well, </span> <span class="s2"> <em>with</em> </span> <span class="s1"> me?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae looked flabbergasted, and Chanyeol back-pedalled. “I’m sorry. You needed a ride home, not someone hitting on you. I just like our talks, but if it’s only a waiter/customer thing for you, I understand.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol took a deep breath, and when Jongdae didn’t speak, he repeated the apology. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A smile spread slowly on Jongdae’s face. “You’re adorable.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Chanyeol closed his eyes, humiliation sweeping over him in a hot wave. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Adorable</span> <span class="s1">, </span> <span class="s2">like a puppy.</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae’s lips brushed his, and Chanyeol’s eyes sprang open.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d love to go on a date, but I can’t invite you inside,” Jongdae said apologetically as he drew back. “My family…”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. I wasn’t trying to, um, proposition you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae chuckled, and if Chanyeol wasn’t mistaken, there was a risqué edge to his laugh. “I know you weren’t,” he said. “But I really wouldn’t mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He opened the door and got out. Chanyeol sat, idling at the curb, for minutes after he was gone. His lips tingled, and his heart felt as if it would detonate.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae had kissed him. It didn’t seem real. But his lips buzzed as if to contradict the doubt. He wanted to kiss Jongdae again, a real kiss, with tongue. But he’d been too surprised to do it. Cursing himself, he drove away. But he drove away a happy man. Jongdae had said yes to a date.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">SPECIALS: Spring salad, avocado chicken sandwich, peach tea</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae grabbed Chanyeol’s arm when he entered the restaurant and tugged him through the kitchen door. “So, did you get the job?” he asked. “Tell me everything but be quick. I just sat a table of four.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol came by the restaurant every time Jongdae was on shift now that they were dating. Jongdae had made him promise not to sacrifice sleep when he was in a better place with his insomnia, so he mostly swung by at five in the morning, had breakfast, and then drove Jongdae home.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a strange courtship, maybe, but it worked for them. They’d managed two real dates — one memorable night of dancing that Chanyeol would never forget, and a quieter coffee date where they’d gotten to know each other better.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I got the job,” Chanyeol said now, unable to suppress his smile. “I start in two weeks. I still can’t believe it, but they really liked my portfolio.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae grinned and kissed him. “That’s great, Chanyeol! I hope—”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Order up!” Kyungsoo bellowed, even though he was standing right beside them. He placed two breakfast platters in the window and carried on cutting strawberries and apples for a fruit salad as if they weren’t there.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” Jongdae said, pecking Chanyeol’s lips again. “Go sit somewhere. I’ll find you when I have a minute to breathe.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They hadn’t had a chance to set up another outing together. Dating a man whose schedule was as packed as Jongdae’s was challenging, but as long as he could sneak by to see Jongdae at work, Chanyeol was satisfied.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">More than satisfied.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol still felt breathless when he thought of that night of dancing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d watched the hypnotic swivel of Jongdae’s hips and the fluid movement of his arms and legs with fascination, growing lust, and no small amount of fear. While Chanyeol awkwardly tried to stay with the beat, Jongdae danced circles around him, and Chanyeol knew without a doubt that Jongdae could do better than a jaded ad executive.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol felt a pleasing fullness in his chest when he thought of their second date. It had been uneventful by comparison. Coffee and shopping. But they’d opened up to each other, talked more about their families, and it was this connection — the one they’d laid a foundation for at the restaurant — that gave Chanyeol hope they could have a future together.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Jongdae shopped for his nieces and nephew, Chanyeol haltingly told him about the failed relationship with his father, the breakup with his girlfriend, and the lack of other relatives in his life. He was afraid Jongdae wouldn’t comprehend or might even be furious with Chanyeol for failing with his dad so spectacularly. Jongdae worked so hard to hold on to his mother, and she continued to slip away.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he’d turned a melancholic smile on Chanyeol instead.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That breaks my heart to hear you’re lonely,” he’d said. “My mother doesn’t always see me, lost in time as she so often is. But when she does have a good day? We sometimes talk for hours about our favourite memories from when I was a kid. I can’t imagine not having her in my life.” He laughed sadly. “I even took the job at the restaurant because of her. She loved the pie. She stopped in so often she became friends with the owner. I guess I believed working there would make me feel closer to her in some way.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now, that breaks my heart,” Chanyeol said. “It’s different for me, though. It’s not that I don’t love my father…”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae had grabbed his arm, halting them, and looked into his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s your fault,” he’d said seriously, “especially given what you say about your father not accepting your sexuality, but you have the potential to rework things. Or at least try to rework things. You could call your dad, let him know how you’re doing. Who knows? Maybe he has regrets too.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’d changed the subject to talk about lighter topics, but Chanyeol hadn’t forgotten their conversation. He turned the words over in his head at night, wondering if his father would try to understand him if given another chance.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol found a booth in the back of the restaurant and sat down while Jongdae saw to his tables. He watched Jongdae take orders and deliver drinks with the grace that had first attracted Chanyeol to a him. A dancer who now wasted his gift on unappreciative students, drunkards, and truck drivers passing through. If Chanyeol could do anything for Jongdae, he’d give him the opportunity to pursue a more fulfilling career, just as he’d given Chanyeol the strength to do it for himself.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Jongdae’s life was different, Chanyeol reminded himself. He knew that Jongdae’s number one dream was to be there for his mother for as long as she needed him. That, too, endeared him to Chanyeol, who longed for family half as devoted as Jongdae.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once he’d served his customers, Jongdae approached with a glass of orange juice. Chanyeol slid over, making room for Jongdae to slip in next to him, and placed a hand on his thigh.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I really want us to go on another date,” Chanyeol murmured.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me too,” Jongdae said, his eyes fixed on Chanyeol. “We need to celebrate that new job properly.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This Tuesday?” he asked hopefully, targeting Jongdae’s day off. Jongdae bit his lip, hesitating. “Or maybe next Tuesday?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll ask my sister if she can cover for me,” Jongdae said. “I’ll figure something out.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t want to be too demanding—”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not, Chanyeol,” Jongdae said, waving off his concerns. “But I want this date to be different.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want you to take me home with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol’s hand reflexively tightened on Jongdae’s thigh. “I like the sound of that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">SPECIALS: Closed for a remembrance of life ceremony</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae drifted through the crowd in the restaurant, a hollow shell of himself. His eyes felt as if they were filled to the brim with water, red-rimmed from all the crying he’d done that morning.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d died in her sleep, about as peacefully as can be done. Jongdae didn’t feel much tranquility by that, however. He’d hoped for more time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He inspected the tables that had been pushed together to form a buffet line. The pies were nearly gone now, and they were low on ice. He turned for the kitchen, but was halted by the restaurant’s owner, Suji.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought I’d get another bucket of ice,” he said.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ease off, Jongdae. We’ve got it covered,” she said. “Why don’t you take a seat?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His mother’s longtime neighbour, Songmin, approached with a plate of banana cream pie, and Suji slipped into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She was a good woman, your mother,” Songmin said. “She brought me a casserole nearly every day after I lost my Mina. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae managed a weak smile. “She did love to cook.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry I can’t offer your family the same service. I mostly eat those frozen dinners these days. I could get you some?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door jingled, and Jongdae turned, grateful for the interference rescuing him from an awkward rejection of Songmin’s polite offer.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol walked in, and Jongdae was hit with a wave of reassurance so powerful he swayed on his feet.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There you are,” Jongdae said weakly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol hurried to his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and Jongdae turned in toward his body, resting his face on Chanyeol’s chest. He took a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of Chanyeol curl around him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I got held up at work,” Chanyeol said. “I’m sorry I’m late.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re here now,” Jongdae said, drawing back to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol held him, rubbing his back gently. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tears sprang to Jongdae’s eyes once more, and he blinked them back. No more crying.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m better now that you’re here,” Jongdae said honestly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clasped Chanyeol’s hand and led him to the tables of food. “Come eat something. Suji, the owner, donated all this for us. Wasn’t that sweet of her? She’s a great boss.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol ate a plate of food at Jongdae’s urging and stayed as guest after guest left until they were nearly alone. Jongdae’s sister joined them as Jongdae began trying to clean up. Trying and failing because Suji once again told him to stop.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ve got it from here,” she said.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you so much,” Jongdae’s sister said. “Mum really loved this place before she got sick. She thought you made the best lemon meringue in the state.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her voice broke, and she pulled out a well-used tissue to dab at her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suji thanked her and slipped away to take care of the clean-up with another member of staff, while Jongdae’s sister said her good-byes. Before she left, she hugged Jongdae and whispered in his ear, “Your boyfriend’s cute. Respectful too. Mum would have liked him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae’s heart gave a painful throb. He’d regret not introducing Chanyeol, but his mother wouldn’t have remembered him. When his sister said their mom would have liked Chanyeol, Jongdae knew she meant the woman she had been, when she was lucid and remembered her children and grandchildren.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blew out a breath as she pulled back. “It’s kind of a new thing, but thanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After Jongdae’s sister had left, he returned to the man who’d walked into his restaurant and charmed his dreary nights. Chanyeol took better care of himself, he shaved his facial hair, styled his hair and switched up his fashion. He looked younger... finer. He stood and tugged at the cuffs of his button-down shirt. “I guess it’s time to go.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae stepped close and looked him in the eye. “Take me home?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A beat passed, and then Chanyeol nodded, seeming to understand what Jongdae really wanted. To go home with Chanyeol. To be with Chanyeol, at least for the night.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">SPECIALS: Wedding cake… congratulations Chanyeol &amp; Jongdae!</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol and Jongdae stood behind a table in the centre of the room, a two-tier wedding cake in front of them. They’d gotten married in a simple outdoor ceremony in the mild spring weather. The reception was a larger affair, with all the restaurant regulars in attendance to offer Jongdae well wishes on his future. He’d gone down to a part-time day shift at the restaurant while he taught a children’s dance class at the local school and an adult class at the fitness centre. It was too late to resume a serious dancing career, but he hoped to expand his teaching into a full-time job. Chanyeol knew Jongdae would rather have his mother than his newfound freedom, but he was proud that Jongdae was moving forward with his life.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol, too, was in a better place now. He still struggled to sleep at times, but a regular sex life worked wonders for relaxing him and emptying his brain. A less stressful job didn’t hurt, either. Mostly, he was content, even though his relationship with his father was still a struggle.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glanced at the man who stood up as a witness for him at his wedding, despite not fully understanding why Chanyeol would ever want to marry a man when he could love someone else. His father was trying, and that was better than the radio silence they’d maintained for the two years before Chanyeol met Jongdae.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe his father would come around, and maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, Jongdae was his family now, and Jongdae’s sister, her husband, and their kids. He had more family than he knew what to do with, especially on the nights he and Jongdae got tapped to babysit Jongdae’s nieces and nephew.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae picked up a large knife, and Chanyeol took an exaggerated step back from him. The small crowd laughed.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I married a funny man,” Jongdae said. “You’ve been holding back.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol shook his head. “Not me. I don’t hold back ever.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae smirked, his mind no doubt going straight back to the bedroom, where they’d thoroughly exhausted themselves that morning. “I’m counting on it,” he said with a wink, then sliced the cake.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They each picked up a frosted square.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have to feed each other!” someone called.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Smash it all over each other,” Kyungsoo suggested.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol didn’t like the gleam in Jongdae’s eye as he turned toward Chanyeol.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jongdae, wait—”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t hold back either,” he said with a smile, and smashed cake into Chanyeol’s mouth. Cake went everywhere, into his mouth, across his cheek, all the way up onto his eyelid.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While Chanyeol was still blinking in shock, Jongdae leaned in and licked frosting off his face. “Mmm. Marriage tastes good on you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol supposed he could forgive Jongdae if it led to more licking.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once they’d gotten Chanyeol cleaned up — mostly with serviettes, rather than Jongdae’s tongue, sadly — they shared a sip of champagne and mingled with their guests.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol’s father approached, looking rigid and uncomfortable in his dark suit. Jongdae held out a hand to shake. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Park.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Mr. Park looked down at Jongdae’s hand but didn’t shake it. Just when Chanyeol felt anger and embarrassment rise inside him, his father pulled Jongdae into a hug and slapped his back. “You make my son happy, and he tells me you’re the reason he called me, so thank </span> <span class="s2">you.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol blinked as his father pulled him into a tight hug and congratulated him before taking a slice of cake and heading for a booth.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He reminds me of someone I know,” Jongdae said, as he watched Chanyeol’s father sit down in the same booth in the back that Chanyeol tended to favour.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chanyeol gave him a sidelong glance. “We’re not that much alike,” he said.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s handsome.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess that much is true,” Chanyeol said. “If you go for tall, dark, and stressed.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do,” Jongdae said, echoing his wedding vows.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae’s sister walked up before Jongdae could tease Chanyeol any further.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Honestly, I don’t know why you wanted to have your reception here,” she said with a head shake. “Haven’t you had enough of this place?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jongdae just smiled. “It’s where we met.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where we fell in love,” Chanyeol added.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, the specials board should have read: Sandwiches, orange juices, and true love.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
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